Poetry

Them that’s got got to lose. Them that ain’t got, can’t.  

At the bar in Otto’s near 5th,both off from work, the heavyfoot traffic of silhouetted commutershastening home outside, and us, heretwo drinks in. The conversationhas just ramped up and he wantsto know why I did it, how I could have betrayedour family. The bartender is in night school, we learn, for law but, meanwhile, he…

On the glassed-in back porchof a friend’s house on Folsom, I slept three weeks on a heapof patterned wool blankets, a large ziploc of granolaand a jar of pistachios on the sill. I woke to bus trafficin the floorboards and sun on my face, drank thin coffeeand scoured the listings for a studio someplace morepossible….

When the little bulls, so-called, rained downFrom passing rainclouds like little bulletsUnexploded, wishing onlyTo scrub themselves away on their armored backsIn postures of convulsive surrender;When we, trainees, young men and boysWith imperfectly formed morals, flipped themOnto their sticky ridged belliesWith wooden spoons, then nudged themOn their way to the drylands, only to returnHours later from…

Over-aged, over grave, overlooked brotherSeeks adjoining variable female structureCovered in chocolate, cinnamon, molasses,Freckled, sandy or sunset colored fleshExpressively motored by a blend of intellectualFat & muscle while several complex & simpleEmotional frequencies pulse along her veins.Must be a careful & moderately self-indulgentCinematographer, modestly self-conscious, reasonablySelf-important, spiritually self-educated, marginallySelf-destructive. Must be willing to raise orchidsOr kids…

A brother versed in spiritual calisthenicsAnd cowboy quiet seeks funny, lonesome,Speculative or eye-glassed lass. ShopaholicsWelcomed. Also Prince fanatics, museumCashiers, & pragmatists conversant (lipstickOr no lipstick) with a hipness substantialEnough to contract around a muscle as wellAs expand around a child. Fear of boredom is ideal.Fear of dereliction is OK. Love for the willy-nillyAnd Willy Nelson…

You have a gun but to use the bulletYou decide your wife, having snuggled itUnder her tongue, should then smuggle itInto your pie hole but she swallows it.You have a gun but to use the poisonYou have your son dip a rose in venomSo strong the smell alone will kill someone,But the first to die…

Maxine Waters, being of fire, being of swordShaped like a silver tongue. Cauldron, siren,Black as tarnation, black as the consciousnessOf a black president’s wife, black as his black tieTuxedo beside his black wife in room after roomOf whiteness. My grandmother’s name had waterIn it too, Water maker. I have wept listeningTo Aretha Franklin sing Precious…

“Carry on,” they say,Even if you carry nothingBut your own desolation,And how much does desolation weigh?It’s like an armload of sirens.When I walk through the meadow,When I walk down the mountain valleys,When I walk in beautyI try to remember who I am.Nothing doing.Out there in space, Einstein washes his hair.A thirsty wind drubs the open…